Something There
by darthsquirt2
Summary: "I keep trying to tell myself that there's nothing between Hawke and I. That when I see her, and my heart races, and my breath hitches, that it's nothing more than physical attraction. It's a lie I find harder and harder too believe every day. It's a lie I don't even know if I want to believe anymore." Told from Isabella's P.O.V. One-Shot.


This story is M. M. M. M.  
It is the M'iest thing I've ever written.

* * *

"Ah, look who's here. Time to change the locks again."

Shit.

I drop the quill in my hands, taking care to turn carefully around, still leaning against the desk to face the woman in the doorway.

"Oh you couldn't do that." I gasp playfully. "However will I learn whether..." I pause, turning back to the desk. I take the opportunity to cover my work before dragging a finger across a wrinkled letter. "Peaches ever wins the fair warden's heart. I need to know if she'll be available next time I'm in Ferelden.

She raises a disbelieving eyebrow at me. "Oh. Is that all? Well then-"

"Woof." Hawke's blasted dog barks, leaping to its spot in front of the fireplace to stare at his mistress.

"What's that, boy?" Hawke grins, crouching down next to him and cocking an ear.

"Woof."Caught.

"Isabella's been trying to forge my signature again?" She flashes me a brief, predatory smile.

"Woof." That dog's spending far too much time with Aveline.

"And the family seal? Oh dear." She straightens up, leaning slightly to one side, her arms folded. She does her best to look cross.

"Okay." I stand upright, arms held out placatingly. "You've caught me. But you can't blame me!"

She smirks at me. Her damned dog chuckles.

"Well, not that much. Your name opens doors in this city now. Mine just opens legs."

"And for well deserved reasons, both." Hawke purrs.

She steps closer, quickly wrapping her arms around my waist, pulling me towards her. We're so close, I can feel her heart beat racing behind her thin robe. It takes only a moment for my pulse to quicken as well, matching hers. In only a second, the air in the room becomes both unbearably hot, and surprisingly scarce.

"I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't the only reason you dropped by anymore." She whispers. "You used to come over to Gamlen's every week when the others were all out."

"I liked that place." The protest rings hollow, even to me. "It was charming." Especially to me. "And I didn't have to climb up to high town to-"

She presses her lips to mine, and I forget what I was talking about.

"I'd like to think I'm worth it." She mutters, pulling ever so slightly away.

I can't disagree.

This time I lean forward to lose myself in her.

I feel doubts and reservations dissolve within me as the world around melts into a colourful blur.

In the kiss, the passion of the moment, I forget about a lot of things.

Castillon.

The relic.

The qunari.

Why I was avoiding Hawke.

The open door.

"Ahem."

Hawke's skin bristles as she turns her head around despite an, involuntary, I swear, moan of protest.

"Mother." Hawke tries to sound nonchalant, addressing Leandra more or less evenly. I writhe slightly, suddenly uncomfortable in her grasp. "I wasn't expecting you home so early." She tightens her grip.

"Obviously not." She smiles, amused. She strolls casually over to the coatracks.

"What are you doing here?" Hawke asked more pointedly, obviously impatient.

"It's a bit chilly out," she doesn't stop smiling as she pulls an elegant cloak and matching scarf from the racks, "and I thought I might see if you were interested at joining me for the Comte Du Launcet's birthday party." Her eyes flicker to me for just a moment. "His son was asking after you as I recall."

"Mother!"

"I suppose I'll just have to disappoint him then." She calls over her shoulder, stepping out of the house. "Don't wait up!"

I can't believe it. She did it too. First Avaline stairs mistaking lust for romantic, mushy feelings (or worse, commitment), then Varric goes and does the same, and now it seems Hawke's mother has joined the club. Where does it end? I can't understand how-

Hawke turns back to me, eyes slightly glassy. My thoughts rearrange themselves fittingly. There is a beautiful woman in my arms, and she is still fully clothed. I simply must do something about that.

She's thinking something similar.

I can tell.

* * *

Oh, by Andraste's buxom form.

I roll over, careful not to disturb the sleeping Hawke who's bed I share. Though she's asleep, her arms still cling to me. One of her hands traces circles over my stomach.

I shiver, my body wracked with memories of tonight.

Sixteen times.

Sixteen times Hawke had taken me, and not once did she let me return the favour.

Sex is supposed to be about give and take, not...whatever tonight had been. Not Hawke's tender ministrations guided by eyes filled with...something.

It was...disturbing.

I stay that way, full away in Hawke's arms until the sun begins to peek through the curtains of her room. I hear Leandra return sometime after Hawke falls asleep.

She wasn't alone.

Hawke's probably fortunate to have missed that.

I feel the blankets shift, and suddenly Hawke's face is in front of mine, her eyes sparkling. I can't fathom why she looks so damned pleased with herself. I didn't get the chance to do anything to her last night. Not that I can really complain.

"Good morning." She grins at me; a satisfied smile I know I haven't earned yet.

"Hawke...last night I..." I trail off. I'm never this tongue tied around anyone else.

'Was there something there?' I don't manage to ask her.

She can see it in my eyes, though. She watches me quietly for a moment, -something-written all over her face.

"Did you want there to be?" She finally whispers, so quietly I almost completely miss it. There is a fragile ness behind her eyes now.

"H-Hawke, I..."

"Nothing, Isabella." She quietly amends, a false levity to her voice. "I'm just tired. Pay me no mind." I can see something break behind her gaze as she settles back down to her pillow.

I watch her for awhile before laying down as well. I don't know why...I've never felt this way with anyone; not Zevran, not my dear 'husband,' and certainly none of the others I've bedded over the years...but I do. I want so much for there to be more. I almost yearn for it.

* * *

A.N. I can absolutely say I felt decidedly awkward while writing that entire second portion as well as most of the first. I do not think I will ever write from the perspective of a lecherous harlot ever again.

Ever.


End file.
